


Blood Red Dress

by AwkwardFortuna



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Dancing, Gen, Past Abuse, exploration of gender rolls? idk, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardFortuna/pseuds/AwkwardFortuna
Summary: Credence watches the skirts of the beautiful women on the dance floor below; and the way that they fill with air and pillow out like clouds, revealing ankles and sometimes thigh.





	

Credence watches the skirts of the beautiful women on the dance floor below; and the way that they fill with air and pillow out like clouds, revealing ankles and sometimes thigh. He suddenly feels hot under his collar. He can already hears his mother's disapproval, echoing in the back of his mind. The ladies here, are nothing at all like what his mother says a good lady should be. He knows that he shouldn't be watching them, knows that he should remove himself completely from the sights before him and beg the Lord for forgiveness; but the graceful movements of the men and women, holding tightly to each other, is far too beautiful to look away from.  
"Do you like dancing, Credence?" Mr. Graves asks, startling him from his reverie.  
He jerks his head away from the view of the dance floor to Mr. Percival Graves and finds that he can't hold the eye contact for very long, Credence lets his gaze drop to the tie that Grave's has chosen to wear tonight. It shines green and blue, sometimes purple, in the light of the chandelier, like a peacock's feather. Credence thinks that it suits him perfectly, before lowering his gaze to the red and silver of the tablecloth between them.

"I…don't know" he mutters softly, remembering now that he's been asked a question by Mr. Graves and that it would be very rude to not respond.  
“I've never tried it,” Credence adds.  
The tablecloth feels softer than anything he’s ever touched before. It’s expensive no doubt, possibly silk. He traces the silver embroidery with the tips of his fingers and remembers suddenly a dress he had seen a long time ago, back when Modesty was still new and rebelled against Mary Lou in the silliest and most obscure ways.  
She had decided to ditch her New Salemer's flyers and go for a walk. A walk that had lasted well past the hour she was expected to be back by. Mother had sent him out that night to look for her and he had found her a good while away: standing outside of a Macy's department store and staring up at a red dress that fit snug against the mannequins on display there. They each took turns standing before it, their reflections trying on dress after dress in the display case, until they had run out of daylight for their reflections to be seen by.  
He can still hear Modesty’s laugh and can remember the red of the dress and how it had matched the blood that pooled out from his hands under the ministrations of his mother’s belt buckle. That red, was nearly the exact same color of the tablecloth and the memory of it unsettles him. Credence curls his hands into fists; suddenly hating the way they look. He takes his hands away and stuffs them under the table. After a long moment's pause, Graves leans forward and nudges his chin up until their eyes meet. 

"Would you like to dance, Credence?" Graves asks, and the sincerity in his tone brings a dampness to his eyes that Credence can’t seem to will away. He fumbles at a scab on his palm beneath the table, and wills himself to stop.  
"I can't" he sobs, suddenly feeling like one of Modesty's New Salem flyers, tossed childishly to the wind.  
"I don't know how".  
There is a dampness on his face and in his palm there is the stinging sensation of a scab ripped open before it’s had enough time to fully heal. Grave's slides his hands to the back of Credence’ neck, pulling him close enough to kiss before turning Credence’ head away, and angling it towards the dance floor.  
"I can show you how, Credence." Graves whispers directly into his ear.  
For a moment; Credence can imagine Mr. Graves dancing with a woman, his strong arms twirling her around and around in a dress as red as blood. His cloak and her dress billow up with each spin, catching enough air to shroud them both in a mass of fabrics and color. When the twirling has stopped, and the cloak and dress have settled to their natural gravities; it is him holding on tightly to Mr. Graves, his palms bleeding sleeves of red to the elbow.  
He shudders before whispering a  
“yes Mr. Graves.”

"Yes, what?" Graves asks and this time, he doesn't need to move Credence into his line of sight, doesn’t need to push the boy to face him. Credence does it all on his own, his damp eyes finding Percival’s with an astonishing focus. The light from the chandelier reflects white in the boy's eyes that Percival finds just a bit unsettling.  
"Teach me how to dance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about format!  
> Constructive crit is appreciated and always welcome! :)


End file.
